


A Knot Tied In Red

by freezepopsandoom



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Pure Unadulterated Fluff, Wedding Bells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 22:24:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freezepopsandoom/pseuds/freezepopsandoom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He’d glared a bit when Stiles picked out the color. He’d said it ‘brought out his eyes.’ The tailor just looked at them both, wondering why a vibrant, almost incandescent, red would bring out Derek’s admittedly gorgeous eyes."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Knot Tied In Red

**Author's Note:**

> So I watched 27 Dresses last night and angsted about weddings and their relationship to me, as a gay man. And then I went to sleep and woke up and wrote this. 
> 
> No beta for this one, but I usually catch all my own mistakes, and it's so short. If you see anything glaring, drop a comment, please?

_“Derek, I need your help. You’ve always been better at this.”_

Stiles’ voice crackled through the cell phone, quiet and hopeful like the morning they’d been working towards for seven years now. It had been over seven years since Derek first saw Stiles and Scott on the Hale property and told them to get lost.

It took them that long to go from enemies to begrudging acquaintances, to allies. Eventually they even made it to friends, but then life happened and other people happened, distrust set back in, the sharp sting of imagined betrayals, and it took them a couple more years before they waded through their emotions and found each other waiting. Allies to friends to boyfriends - lovers. And now this.

“I’ll be right in,” he replied, and promptly hung up. They were in the remodeled Hale house, rebuilt from literal ashes. There were even days when Derek couldn’t smell smoke underneath _home_ and _Stiles_ and _Pack_. He knew that the Pack, his new family which was forged in fire and tempered by love, was waiting down in the backyard. It was almost time.

Derek was nervous. He adjusted his tie for the thirtieth time that morning, made sure it looked straight and the knot wasn’t too big. He’d glared a bit when Stiles picked out the color. He’d said it ‘brought out his eyes.’ The tailor just looked at them both, wondering why a vibrant almost incandescent red would bring out Derek’s (admittedly) gorgeous eyes. She didn’t say anything, but smiled the smile of the overworked and told them Stiles was right. More laughter and glaring before Derek acquiesced and made sure to get the woman’s number so he could ask just how much of that shiny, blood red silk she had.

The fabric was slick underneath his fingers and Derek had a moment to imagine what it would feel like if he tied Stiles to the bed with it. Later. He smiled softly at the memory of all the work the Pack had put into today.

Lydia had practically taken over, and Stiles had to yell at her three times before she finally gave in and declared that Stiles didn’t have to wear a white tux ,even if she thought he’d look better in it and it would create more of a contrast in their photos. Derek sat her down and explained, with some of those flashing red eyes, that they were going to pick what they were going to wear, they were going to write their own vows, but Lydia could have control over most of the rest of the whole spectacle. As long as she kept it small and somewhat intimate.

Derek still liked his privacy and since he knew Stiles was going to be Stiles, there were probably going to be underhanded dog jokes or gratuitous wolf references, or, god forbid, howling, and Derek liked to keep that all to a minimum.

He gathered himself, put on his suit jacket (and schooled his face into something that Stiles wouldn’t laugh or coo at immediately) and strode from the guest bedroom to join Stiles in their shared bedroom, where he’d been changing and doing final wardrobe adjustments.

Deciding against a knock, Derek just quickly opened and closed the door, his back purposefully toward Stiles, eyes screwed shut. He wanted to prolong the moment when he saw his future husband for the first time in his tux.

He laughed the second he turned around, partly happiness and partly because Stiles’ face. Stiles wore an expression that was both exasperated and annoyed, and Derek knew how much Stiles hated wearing ties, but Stiles kept saying he wanted to look nice at their wedding.

Stiles was facing the large mirror which sat atop a desk that Derek had made himself, recycled wood from the old house. Stiles would sometimes find Derek running his hands along the grain, as if he were trying to push memories out of it and Stiles would just hug him from behind. Hold him until Derek would turn and bury his face into the crook of Stiles’ neck and just _breathe._

They had formed this relationship over blood, broken bones and the burn of muscles and flesh, and Derek came to the conclusion that he would rather not live without Stiles the night that Stiles asked him to marry him. He couldn’t even think to say no.

Derek laughed just long enough to makes Stiles fidget and look pleadingly at him through the mirror, but then Derek got a proper look at his betrothed and his face turned soft. Stiles looked dashing in the sleek black lines created by his trousers. The white of his shirt just made the moles on his face more pronounced, a part of him that Derek loved to trace with his fingers and tongue and teeth. And the silk waistcoat that Derek had commissioned from the same cut as his tie looked amazing, even if it was currently unbuttoned. The red was a fierce and noble color that made Stiles look older, more like the kid who grew up too fast and learned to run with wolves.

“You could take a picture, or you could help me tie this damn thing.” Stiles sounded annoyed and nervous, words quick with only a slight bite to them. Derek’s eyes snapped back to Stiles’ face and he saw the frustration.

Derek walked up behind Stiles and put his hands on his shoulders and met his eyes through the mirror, face made blank. “I know you wanted to wear this,” he said, voice close and guarded. “But you look just fine without it. I tend to prefer you with less clothing.”

Stiles took a moment before he smiled at the joke Derek made with a straight face. He was obnoxiously good at that. His nerves won out over speaking, though, and he began to fidget with the black silk in his hands before he just handed it over his shoulder, message conveyed without any more words.

Derek took the fabric and looped it around Stiles’ upturned collar, eyes concentrating on the movements of his arms around Stiles’ neck, fluid in their muscle memory. He wasn’t sure why exactly, but Derek was only capable of tying ties while looking in the mirror, he couldn’t do it if he was facing the tie. So he was pressed against Stiles’ back, ignoring how he smelled like sunlight and felt like scattered energies in all the small twitches Derek was positive Stiles didn’t even recognise consciously.

Taking his past into account, his own choices and personal failings, Derek was almost sure this day would never happen for him. Not just with Stiles, but with anyone. He wasn’t a model citizen or werewolf or alpha, and Derek had once tried to convince Stiles that he could do much better. Inklings of those feelings trickled back into his brain as he readjusted the tie, huffed out a bit when he realised he’d made one side too long and had to start over.

There were still moments when Derek would wake up in the middle of the night after having gone to bed with Stiles and Stiles wasn’t in his arms or looped around him and he’d panic for all of three seconds before he heard Stiles in the bathroom or downstairs getting a drink. Fear would overtake him and he’d just wait for Stiles to get back and the fear of being left alone again, of Stiles leaving, would subside.

The tie was finally finished, just long enough to be correct for semi-formal wear, and Derek spun Stiles around and flattened it against his chest. He’d filled out a bit more, being a human and werewolf pack could do that to you. A lot of running was involved. Ignoring Stiles’ face, Derek buttoned the obnoxiously red waistcoat overtop the simple, if a bit skinny, black tie. Derek waited until he was done before he met Stiles’ eyes, honestly a bit surprised that Stiles let him do all that without complaint or batting his hands away claiming ‘I can do it myself.’

Stiles looked at him, searched through his eyes and showed concern in his own. He drew Derek into a fierce hug, because he had this uncanny ability to know exactly what Derek was feeling at any given time, even if Derek wasn’t fully aware of it.

“I’m not going anywhere, buddy,” he said. It was straightforward and whispered right into Derek’s temple, followed by a kiss. Something unclenched deep in Derek’s heart and he heard no lie in Stiles’ words, not that he even needed to hear his heartbeat to know. A deep breath, just taking him in and feeling him close was all Derek needed in that moment. Like always, Stiles just knew.

Their moment was interrupted by the shrill tone of Derek’s phone and the urgency of Scott’s voice saying they needed to get down there right now, something wasn’t right.

*~*~*~

When they finally strode up to the aisle an hour later than they anticipated, Derek was in a new undershirt with the red silk tie haphazardly tied around his neck because the suit jacket and shirt were way too torn to even be considered clothing. Stiles’ suit jacket had suffered the same fate, so it was gone, but he didn’t care that his white sleeves were tattered and bloody at some parts. He had a bright red cut that ran up his cheekbone, and it matched the bright red of his slightly worse-for-wear waistcoat.

The cake was upended, the little wax figurine toppers that were actually a wolf and little red riding hood (courtesy of Mama McCall), were laying crushed in the grass among bits of chocolate cake and frosting. The priest looked terrified, slightly out of mind, hair frayed, glasses bent and eyes wide, but she said she’d still do the wedding.

Despite the general look of wanton destruction that had taken place, turned Lydia’s beautiful backyard dream into a post apocalyptic fairy tale, both Derek and Stiles were smiling, faces shining with sweat and love. So they tied the knot, bloody and bruised, overheated by exertion and the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the trees. It felt normal. It felt like them.

**Author's Note:**

> I promise I will ONE DAY finish Edge Of Glory, please don't hate me.


End file.
